


The Weather Outside is Frightful

by missbeizy



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas in New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weather Outside is Frightful

Everything inside seems paced with the snowfall outside--slow, haphazard, and thick. New York's frantic heartbeat is tempered for just a short while at the beginning of storms like this, adopting instead a great, blanketed peace. 

Sean mulls over this as he waits nervously for Elijah to get back from the corner store. Nat King Cole's "Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire" plays softly on the stereo in the living room and in the kitchen the remains of a long meal sit, waiting to be picked up and put away. The apartment is deliciously warm and Sean has been out of his second-layer sweater for quite a few hours.

Hearing movement in the hall, Sean steps away from the window and crosses the apartment, opening the door before Elijah can even wrestle his keys. The smaller man comes through the door in a flurry of melted snowflakes and quick breath, balancing a brown paper grocery bag on his hip. He smoothly whips the glasses off his face and swipes his cap off his cropped hair, brushing water from his sleeves.

"Was the store busy?" Sean asks as he takes Elijah's coat, hat, and gloves, placing them neatly over the back of a chair next to the door.

"Yeah, everyone's freaking out and buying lots of batteries," Elijah replies somewhat sarcastically, and makes for the kitchen. Sean follows in his wake.

"Did they have?" Sean hops up onto the counter. Elijah rifles through the bag just beside him, pulling out the canister of chocolate shavings and waggling it. Sean grins and snatches it, peeking into the bag. He pulls out the little jar of peppermint oil and a carton of cream.

Elijah crumples the bag and tosses it into the trash. He gets out a saucepan from the cabinet under Sean's legs and fills it with whole milk. "When it steams, you add the cream and chocolate." He wriggles between Sean's bobbing feet and the kitchen table and leans up, pecking Sean's nose with a kiss. "Gonna go change."

Sean stands over the stove, watching the milk once he's alone. Elijah comes back in from the direction of the bedroom not long after, a pair of flannel pajama pants and an over-sized matching top half-slid off his shoulders because of the bad buttoning job. Sean, having just put in the chocolate and cream, turns and smiles. He reaches out and undoes the entire shirt, then buttons each fastener the right way. 

Elijah laughs silently and holds up an armful of flannel that's a dark blue shade instead of his own red ones. "For you." He dumps the armload into Sean's hands and shifts over to the stove, stirring the contents of the saucepan and then adding a few teaspoons of the peppermint.

He shuffles over to the sink and gets a pair of mugs from the draining board, then shuffles back and plops them on the counter. "Here, gimme," he says, taking the flannel pajamas from Sean and putting them on the table. His hands creep up, moving to lift Sean's shirt.

"Hey," Sean says, smirking.

Elijah pouts and Sean, after a second's pause, lifts his arms. The shirt gets tossed on the counter and Elijah flicks the pajama top smooth, working it around Sean's shoulders and then buttoning it with adorable scrutiny. 

Sean watches, smiling. "And you can't do that for yourself?"

Eyebrows up and fingers tugging Sean's belt open, Elijah bites the tip of his tongue between his lips. "Of course not." He grins, sliding the smooth leather from its metal clasp with relish. "I'm perfect only for you."

"Were you reading greeting cards at that store, too?"

"Are you sure you're not psychic?" Elijah works the belt free and then flicks the button and tugs the zipper of Sean's fly. "Why the hell am I _dressing_ you? You should never wear clothes in my apartment." He laughs, avoiding any dangerous touching, as Sean kicks away the pants and gets into the flannel ones. "And we match. Sort of."

Sean grins and slides an arm around Elijah's neck, tangling fingers against the fuzzy hair there. They both turn and peek into the saucepan. 

"It's not burnt!" Elijah observes cheerfully. "Oh, go us."

"This is good," Sean concurs in a matching tone, then laughs and shakes his head at their pointless mutual amusement.

Elijah fills two mugs with the product of their short labor and they each take one and wander over to the door that closes the apartment from the small terrace. Elijah spreads one hand flat on the cold glass and then sips from the mug in his other. Sean continues to watch, and the glass frosts up under the heat coming off Elijah's skin, and he thinks about how thin the glass is, what a poor barrier it would really be if the world was determined to get inside. His stomach churns for just a second before settling. (That's what it's down to now--something and then _ow_ and then _okay_ and then the cycle goes away for a while.)

"Let's go outside," Elijah says, breaking the silence.

Sean blinks. "In pajamas?"

"Sure," Elijah shoots back, working the half-frozen door along its icy cold track. "You can keep me warm."

Smirking, Sean bends over and snags Elijah's slippers from beside the couch, tossing them out behind him. He catches a glimpse of Elijah bending to slide them on his feet before moving to get his own pair. After getting them on, he slips out onto the terrace. The cold smacks him all over and sends a plume of steam curling fretfully from his mug. Huge snowflakes litter his hair and stick to his pajamas.

Elijah's face is upturned, glowing white against the pitch-black sky, panning across the buildings that stretch towards the sky on the other side of the street. Snowflakes fall into his eyelashes, dot the flesh around his eyes, melting instantly. A few skitter across his mouth and cheeks. With no embarrassment he sticks his tongue out to catch a few on his tongue. Sean laughs to himself.

"It's quiet up here, for New York," Sean says casually, curling one arm around Elijah's waist from behind.

"You usually only see the loud parts," Elijah replies, smiling. "Union Square, Times Square. The middle. It's not so bad out here. It was Hannah's idea, you know."

"She told me, yeah." Sean's fingers find the line of smooth buttons that run along the center of Elijah's shirt and begin to trace them one by one. 

Elijah takes a big swallow of the chocolate and then tilts his head back onto Sean's shoulder, exhaling. He relaxes under the cold flakes as they dot his face and neck, contrasting sharply with the heat of Sean's body. Sean closes his eyes and lets the extremes coil in his chest, and thinks _beauty too rich for use_ , and then decides that he'll cut down on making fun of Elijah's cliched, sappy moments.

Elijah's wriggling brings him out of his thoughts. He glances down to see a face tipped lightly up at his, all dark eyelashes on pink-blotched cheeks. A smile spreads his mouth just before he touches it to Elijah's. Elijah exhales and leans higher, sliding a hot peppermint and chocolate flavored tongue into Sean's mouth. Sean's pulse misses a beat.

"You're warm," Elijah murmurs against his lips.

"I'm warm only for you."

"Stop stealing my lines, Astin," Elijah counters, grinning like mad, and nuzzles his cold nose up under Sean's jaw.

"I'm gonna drop this," Sean says, referring to his mug, which is still half full. They rearrange a little, fixing arms and feet on the pavement. "It's getting wet. Had your fill of snow?"

"Let me think on that," Elijah says, squirming against Sean's body and drawing another laugh from the older man.

"Come inside with me," Sean singsongs, dragging out the words while tickling Elijah's neck with his mouth at the same time.

"Ooh, I see where this is going." Elijah turns suddenly in Sean's arms, nearly upsetting both their holds on the mugs. "Mmm. Approval given, Mister Astin." He burrows deeper into Sean's arms, then screws his face up thoughtfully. "You're too skinny. Have you been eating?"

"I'm just fine, you." Sean cups his fingers around the cold edges of Elijah's ears to keep them warm. "You met me when I was fat."

Tingling from Sean's fingertips pressing his earlobes, Elijah hums and steps forward, walking them towards the apartment. "We can argue about that, mmm...later."

Inside, Sean ditches the mugs in the sink. He goes to fill them with water, but Elijah distracts his hands and lures him away. All at once they find themselves at the center of a mess of flannel, stumbling across the expanse of the living room in each other's arms.

The bedroom door has been shut the whole time, trapping heat from the vents. Whatever cold there is left on their skin is quickly chased away as they make for the bed and tumble into a mess of unmade sheets. Sean nuzzles his mouth down the flannel collar of the pajama top, all the air leaving his lungs. 

Sean's mouth is still tinged with the mint and Elijah sucks greedily until all that's left is the taste of salt. He brings Sean over his body and then tosses them the other way, arms flailing half over the edge before catching them, and Sean frantically wriggles them to the safety of the center of the bed. He buries his face in the hot crease of Elijah's neck and exhales.

"Sean." Elijah pushes the hair from Sean's forehead. "Mm." He cranes his body up, pushing them together. "Merry Christmas."

Sean laughs, toying with the idea of saying something like _you always give the best Christmas gifts, Elijah_ , but then just tightens his hold. "Merry Christmas."


End file.
